Curve and Cavil
by Aveza
Summary: [Tai/OC, One-shot] Tai is sore and bedridden, and he wants nothing but to stay in bed all day. His girlfriend, however, has other plans and gets creative with her methods of disturbing his peace.


**Disclaimer****: I do not own Digimon. I can only claim my OC. **

**Warnings****: This one-shot will feature a Tai/OC pairing. Upset by that? Then don't read. No digimon will be present. And dub names are used. I believe I have given you full warning. **

**A/N****: This is just a silly one-shot featuring Taichi and my OC, Hana (whom you may recall from "The Center of Everything"). It doesn't really have a point (though it is, erm… **_**not**_** kid-friendly). It was just fun to write, though it does give you some idea of what type of dynamic Tai and Hana will have as a couple. **

**Enjoy! **

xXx

- _Curve and Cavil -_

xXx

**H**e was sore. _So. Sore_. He lay stiffly on his bed, limbs spread slightly out, breathing controlled. Not a muscle twitched as he remained flat on his mattress, wondering, with dread, if what he was experiencing was how quadriplegics felt on a daily basis.

A hand slapped him on the shin, and even if the _smack!_ of a palm against flesh echoed not only through his room but throughout the apartment, he still didn't flinch.

"Oh, please, Tai."

Hana stood by the foot of his bed, arms crossed as she glared down at his pitiful self.

"Come on. Up."

She decided to manually maneuver him, and she held his leg by the ankle and lifted it slightly, only to have him cry out in pain as if she'd just broken his foot.

The limb was dropped more out of surprise than out of a desire to please him.

"What the hell, Taichi?" she groused, setting her hands on her hips. "You're such a baby. Get out of bed. Stretching will do you some good. Come on."

The thought of stretching made him imagine his muscles screaming in agony. He mustered the strength to cover his face with a hand.

"_Please_, Hana," he moaned. "Just leave me alone."

"And you call _me_ the dramatic one."

She decided to oblige him, for a while at least, and sat down on the wooden floor of his room to prepare for her own round of ballet stretches. Bringing the soles of her feet together and driving her heels in toward herself, she bent forward until her nose touched the floor and held her butterfly stretch for a steady count of sixty seconds.

It was her hope that her boyfriend would be unable to resist watching her stretch and subsequently feel inclined to follow her example. He was making a big fuss over very minor body pain, anyway.

A day prior to a major soccer game, Tai had asked Hana to help him prepare for what he was sure would be the toughest match of his season. He wanted to be in top physical condition, and since his soccer team never did stop the ballet tradition, he thought he would take advantage of it and sneak in a few more of the benefits of dating a dancer.

Hana, ever ready to share her love of ballet, agreed to the arrangement, and the duo rendezvoused at her apartment the day prior to the game. They pushed aside the furniture in her living room, and Hana then introduced to Tai a few more exercises and stretches from ballet to add to his repertoire. Unfortunately for him, he had thought that his girlfriend would go easy, but she drilled him much in the same way his coach would.

"Pull up, pull up, _pull up!_" she would screech, when he couldn't hold a position for much longer. And in his frustration, he'd bark back:

"Christ, Hana! I'm not a freaking ballet dancer! Cut me some slack!"

Other times, she wouldn't express her dissatisfaction with his performance with a harsh order. In those instances, she'd opt for physical reprimand, and if his leg wasn't straight or if his form was bad, she'd move the targeted limb herself, regardless of the discomfort it caused him.

"Hana, you are going to make me pull a muscle, and then I'll miss my game, and I'll never forgive you."

"_Tais-toi_," she'd reply, and she'd go ahead and shift him. The torture she wrecked on his muscles redefined his entire pain scale.

It was a seemingly endless cycle that, in reality, only lasted two hours. Bend and bicker. Extend and quibble. Curve and cavil. Mr. Kurosawa observed it all bemusedly as he passed in and out of the kitchen and his office. He'd chuckle into his coffee mug when he was blessed with the sight of his daughter yelling at Tai, who was subjected to exercises that placed him in a variety of compromising positions.

By the time Hana's patience and Tai's endurance had run out, both teens were lying exhausted on the living room rug, Tai's limbs splayed out like the points of a star and Hana lying on her side in the opposing direction. It was also around that time that Mr. Kurosawa announced that he'd be out for a bit to get some grocery shopping done.

"If you need anything, just call me," he said as he walked out the door. "I should be back in an hour."

The door had barely shut before Hana had sat up and crawled over to her boyfriend, who, despite being completely spent from their two hours of balance, agility, and strengthening exercises, happily welcomed her into his arms.

"You're so mean to me," he childishly whined as Hana lay on top of him, resting her chin on the arms she had folded over his chest.

"It'll get better with practice," she assured him. He peeked down at her, catching a wicked gleam in her green eyes.

"Like _other things_, I'm guessing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning. He wriggled a bit beneath her, using his knee to gently nudge her legs out so that she would straddle him if she sat up.

"Yes," she replied slowly, eyes narrowing, "like _other things_." She pressed her thighs into his hips, squeezing him as her knees rubbed against the carpet.

He had to struggle to word a reply, his mind, apparently, gone south.

"You're bad, you know that?" was what he came up with, though it only made Hana snort with laughter.

She raised herself, comfortably perched over his pelvis.

"How can I be bad?" she sang, adjusting herself slightly. "I'm not the one with the knife in my pocket."

"I don't have a kni…" His eyes honed in on her smirking face. She was, indeed, very bad. "Really, Han. I don't have a _knife_ in my pocket."

"Oh, I know," she ceded, bending forward and walking her fore and middle fingers up his chest. "But you will."

By the time Mr. Kurosawa returned home from his errands, the living room furniture had been placed back in their proper order around the room, and Hana and Tai were sharing a couch, the bushy-haired teen lying on one side while his daughter occupied the other, facing in the opposite direction. Both were asleep, save for the minor foot fight they engaged in when Tai's longer legs invaded Hana's space, or, when, in her light slumber, Hana kicked her boyfriend in a very sensitive spot.

It was only after Tai had left to go home and Hana had drowsily gone off into the bathroom to shower before bed that she noticed the dark, purplish circle dotted on her neck. Tai experienced similar astonishment the following morning, though not without discovering another side effect of his stretching regimen with Hana.

The morning of his big game, he woke with aches in his limbs, pain that spiked through his muscles as they flexed and extended with each minute movement of a joint. He cursed himself mentally for ever asking Hana's help. His girlfriend left him as sore as the first time he ever did ballet exercises. He could still move, even if he preferred not to, but his day would progress much easier if he downed a few painkillers.

Moaning and limping, he shuffled over to his bathroom, and when he yawned and gazed blearily at himself in the bathroom mirror, he flinched when he spotted the bruise on his cheek. For a long time, he wondered what he could have hit his face on while he was sleeping—_the wall? the bedpost?_—until he vividly recollected Hana sucking on his cheekbone the previous afternoon.

"Shit."

He had no way of hiding it, and so when he stepped out to greet his family good morning, his mother took one look at him and demanded to know what had happened to his face.

"Hana accidentally kicked me while we were doing partner stretches yesterday," was his excuse. He thought it was lame. His body hurt all over, and he couldn't think straight because of the pain. Plus, he was sure his parents recognized a hickey when they saw one, but the lie seemed to have a calming effect on his mother.

"You need to be more careful, Taichi," she said. "Hana's a dancer. You're not. I hope she's not pushing you too hard."

Tai was hesitant to respond, his mother's blunt (but accurate) vocabulary choices only making him remember the _other _'partner stretches' that took place after the training session. He could only cough into a fist, cheeks turning pink.

His father chuckled, and Mrs. Kamiya, having known her husband for decades, knew exactly what such a snicker betrayed.

"Oh, _don't_," she scolded, glaring at the senior Kamiya. She turned to Tai. "You'd better not be doing anything, Taichi. If Hana gets pregnant—"

"Whoa, whoa!" he burst, raising his hands and bucking backwards. Though, he was more tempted to use them to cover his ears. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Mom! Hana and I haven't done anything. It's a bruise, that's all. That doesn't mean—"

His mother stood up from her chair at the breakfast table, arms crossing. He had outgrown his mother years ago, but once she put on the death glare and stance, it was like staring into the jaws of death.

"Have you or have you not, Taichi?" she demanded.

"Have I… Have I what?" he replied, nervously. "Have I… done my laundry? Nope. Eaten breakfast? Nope. So, I think I sho—"

"_Don't_ play coy with me, young man." Her voice was sharpening like a knife being swiped over a whetting stone.

"Okay, okay. We haven't. We haven't done anything," he admitted. He backed away and took the long way around the table to get to his seat, suppressing the urge to moan at the strain being inflicted on his muscles. If he were a robot, his hinges would be squeaking.

"God. Do we have to talk about this now?" he complained, collapsing into a chair. "I just want to eat."

His mother shot him a glare that shut him up for the rest of breakfast.

He didn't see Hana until before his game. He decided to pay a quick visit to her and his family in the bleachers before he headed back down to the sidelines for his coach's usual pep talk.

Hana grimaced when she noticed the mark on his face. Her own hickey had been expertly concealed thanks to the wonder that was make-up, but Tai didn't have that feminine luxury.

He spoke to her only briefly, retelling the events of his morning, his present state of soreness, and how the 'sex talk' nearly came up again for him, all to which Hana responded with laughter behind a hand.

"Sorry," she told him, gently tapping the love bite with a finger. "I'll pick a more discreet spot for the next one. And you're soreness can go away temporarily with some pain meds. Or a hot patch."

"I can't exactly perform my best when I'm drugged or covered in hot patches, Han," he retorted.

"You're really that sore?"

"Why? You're not?"

"No…"

"That's 'cause you're a freaking piece of rubber," he muttered.

"Don't tell me you don't appreciate my flexibility, Tai," she said wryly, giving him a flirty wink.

Tai cleared his throat, attempting to bring his mind back to soccer.

"And just _how_ am I supposed to concentrate with you talking to me like this?" he teased.

Hana gave him a harmless shrug.

"Beats me."

He kissed her quickly and saw his family off with a wave before he returned to his team, trying his best to ignore the aches in his arms, legs, and other nondescript body parts. Coach Fukazawa had told them all to give the rival team hell, his speech orated with the hope that they'd score before the first half and keep up the momentum for the remaining forty-five minutes.

Unluckily for them, the rival team matched them too equally. Many goal attempts had been made by both teams, all of them in vain, and by the eightieth minute, the score was still tied nil-nil.

"Holy crap, that is a long time to be running around on the pitch," Hana murmured to herself, overheard by Kari.

"Tai's going to be so beat up tomorrow morning," she said. "And he gets _really_ cranky when he's sore."

Hana grimaced.

"So I've heard…"

By the time the ninetieth minute arrived, no goal had been made, and since the match would determine which district team would advance to regionals, a goal was needed, which meant, at the worst, that they would play thirty minutes of overtime and then do a round of penalties. At the best, it meant that someone from Tai's team would score within the first five minutes of extra play.

Tai had been of the impression that Coach would sub him out, as he had been doing his part as center midfielder for the past ninety minutes, running back and forth across the pitch, orchestrating countless (and good) ball plays to his teammates even though they all somehow got botched. He overshot the ball to a striker, or he passed the ball too soon and caused an off-side; or, his teammate was too slow receiving the ball, or it was intercepted by a rival player, or, if their possession was good, his forward still missed his shot.

And so Tai was hardly listening to Coach Fukazawa as the man spat out strategies during the short break before overtime. He opted instead to guzzle down the diluted mixture of sports drink in his water bottle, pausing only to wipe his sweaty face with the hem of his jersey.

"Kamiya, did you get all that?"

Tai glanced up from the fabric of his shirt.

"Uh… Yeah, Coach. I got it."

"All right. Good. Everyone in."

After they had done their team shout, Tai hooked his finger into Davis's jersey collar and yanked him back as they jogged out onto the field.

"What the hell did Coach tell me to do?" he whispered, slightly panicked.

"How should I know? You know I don't listen to half the things he says!"

"Just think, Motomiya, or I'll—"

"Okay, okay. Don't get your underwear in a twist." The younger teen thought a moment. "I think he said for all of us to try to get the ball to you. You'll make the play, but if you hit a tight spot, pass it to me and I'll make the goal happen."

Tai glared dubiously at his protégé, whom he was certain had just made the entire plan up.

"You play wingback, Davis. You're a defender."

"So? Doesn't mean I can't score a goal. Just pass it to me, all right?"

Tai didn't have time to argue. He was being called over by the referee to do the coin toss, which, by sheer luck, he won for his team.

Even if his team started the next thirty minutes with the ball, they had loose possession of it. Players were tired. _He_ was tired. Fukazawa only subbed out two of his forwards and a defender—not Davis—and Tai was running on energy he didn't have.

Twenty-five minutes into their extra time, and Davis tripped up a rival player dribbling the ball, an act that was _not_ called by the referee. An unhappy murmur among the away team's supporters echoed on the field, and more than one player—frustrated with the lack of goals and drained of all viable energy—fought the dismissal. Game play paused.

"That was a foul!" one shouted, pointing at Davis. "We should be getting a free kick!"

"The steal was clean," the referee asserted. "Press me on this and you'll be looking at a yellow card yourself."

In an effort to be sportsmanlike, Tai set a hand on his opponent's shoulder.

"Dude, chill out," he said, and he was rewarded with an elbow in the chest.

"Easy for you to say, you cheating ass-kissers. You're getting the ball unfairly!"

Tai was shoved back, the sheer spite flashing in his rival's eyes instinctively making his jaw tense and his hands tighten into fists. Before he could even hurl his first punch, several pairs of hands restrained him. He was pulled aside, his teammates mumbling a series of mitigations to calm him down.

The referee's whistle blew stridently through the tense air. The infamous black sheath was withdrawn from his pocket, a bright crimson card being raised between two fingers.

"That's it," he said, directing his glower to the player that had pushed Tai. "You're done."

With their opponents down a man and game play resumed, Tai managed to gain possession of the ball, and his aching legs spurred him down the pitch, eyes aimed on Davis's spiky head on the other side.

Defenders from the other team were honing in on him, beginning to form a blockade that would keep him backed up to the field line until he overstepped and had to surrender the ball. He waited a few more seconds, struggling to avoid being cut off as Davis caught up, and when Tai found his opening, he launched the cross.

His eyes anxiously followed the arc to its destined spot on the field, realizing, with dread, that he had under-shot the ball. Davis wasn't going to meet it in time.

Grinding his teeth, Tai placed his hands on his head in anticipation of the disaster and the impending doom that was penalties, until, miraculously, Davis closed the space between him and the soccer ball with a dive forward. His forehead met the soccer ball with a _smack! _and the sphere hurtled into goal.

The ball hit the back of the netting softly, narrowly missing the gloved shield of the goalie. Davis witnessed his goal while laying flat on the grass, mouth agape, pupils shrinking.

The roar that resounded in the stadium was explosive. Feet stomped and pounded on the bleachers, his teammates shouted euphorically.

"Motomiya, you clever little son of a gun!"

Before Davis could even turn around and get off the grass, Tai tackled him back to the ground, his face being pushed into the turf as his _senpai_ gave him the roughest, most loving noogie of his entire life. Soon, his other teammates joined in the celebrating, dog-piling on captain and man of the match. When time was called and the cries of victory intensified, Davis's body front had left a defined imprint in the ground and Tai couldn't decide whether or not to laugh or groan. His body was spent.

Jerseys were doffed and waved around. The losers beat a hasty retreat. When the clamor and excitement of their win fizzled out, Tai was blissfully lying content on the field, thankful not only for their triumph, but for the fact that he didn't have to stand or run or kick anymore. He could just lie down, and, once down, not move again. Ever.

His friends eventually found him as the bleachers and field cleared. They circled around his vulnerable person.

"Come on, Taichi," Hana was the first to pipe up. "It's time to go home."

He wiped his sweaty face with a hand.

"God, please don't make me get up. I'm so freaking tired right now."

But he did, because his parents soon found him, and their threats and yells eventually coerced him to at least _attempt_ to stand.

And so the following morning, a Saturday, he told himself he was not going to get out of bed all day. He was going to lie there and rest and do nothing but eat and breathe until his muscles thanked him for his kindness and consideration.

But his girlfriend had gone to ballet practice only to be told that her private instructor was ill and no lesson would be given; and, since she was already dressed in her tights and leotard, Hana thought she'd still go ahead and do some training of her own.

She appeared at his apartment doorstep just as his parents were leaving to run some errands.

"I don't think he's in the mood to do anything today, Hana," Mrs. Kamiya told her on the way out. "He's quite tired from last night's game."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Kamiya," Hana replied, giving the older woman an innocent smile. "I'll just keep him company. Maybe see if he wants anything to eat."

"All right, but don't get your hopes up. Taichi is an incurable brat when it comes to muscle pain."

"I'll keep that in mind."

When they left, Hana cautiously entered her boyfriend's bedroom, rapping her knuckles on the panel as she pried the door open. The sight that greeted her was Tai lying face up on his sheets, arm and leg dangling over the edge of his bed, brown eyes peacefully closed. He was still dressed in his pajamas: a plain white t-shirt and blue boxer shorts.

Her original approach had been kind and nurturing. She had sat on the edge of his bed, stroking his forehead and whispering him hello, and he had been genuinely glad to see her, going so far as to summon the strength to squeeze her hand.

But as time passed, and as Hana grew restless with the lack of activity, she urged him to get up and do some ballet exercises with her.

"You'll heal faster if you keep up muscle activity," she said. "It'll help condition them to the intensity of the workout you did two days ago."

And thus began their present disagreement: Tai moaning in bed while Hana pestered him ceaselessly to stop whining and start moving.

"Taichi, I am going to say this one last time," she began, her words sounding less like a warning and more like a serious threat. "You need to get off that bed. Just do a few stretches. Really, it'll help."

She said it while in the middle of a straddle split, and for Tai to look at her with her legs spread in a straight, flat line on his bedroom floor made him cringe. Looking at her twist and bend her body into superhuman shapes still disgusted him, though not as much as it made him squirm, envisioning—with terror—what such positions would do to his manhood.

"Hana, what part of 'I can't move a freaking muscle right now' don't you understand?"

"So I can't entice you in _any way_ whatsoever to get out of bed?" she challenged, standing slowly. Her breathing rate had increased, her ribs expanding as she inhaled audibly through her nose. Her face and neck glistened with the glitter of fresh sweat.

"No, you can't."

She peered at him, eyes shrinking to slits, before she spun around on her heel, marched over to his bedroom door and shut it. She leaned against the panel, fingers twisting the lock.

"You have to let me try first, at least," she said huskily, her voice lowering.

Tai read the flicker of mischief in her eyes, the look of a cat that was about to pounce on its prey.

"Shit."

She laughed wickedly as she unlaced her pointe slippers, her freed feet then taking her to his bed, which she delicately eased onto so as to avoid making the mattress squeak.

His fingers gripped his sheets as she crawled over him, her body settling on his with a painful slowness. She bent her head and buried her face in his neck, sucking in the scent of him.

"Just how long do you think you can endure this, Taichi?" she taunted, nibbling up his jawline before her lips rediscovered the hickey she had left on his cheekbone. He flinched as the tip of her tongue flicked over the bruise, her kisses leading to his ear.

He didn't answer her, and she chuckled when she felt the muscle tighten in his jaw.

"_Hmmm_…" she hummed. He could feel the vibrations pulsing from her throat. Her legs tightened around him.

Abruptly, she sat up, peering down at her bedridden boyfriend, the most feminine part of her pressed against the most masculine of his. She inched backwards, bending forward as he felt her cold hand glide under the hem of his shirt and run up his toned torso. The corner of her mouth kicked up into a smirk as she observed him inhale sharply at the touch of her tickling him, though he remained unmoving, eyes refusing to look upon her face.

"Stubborn, are we?" she purred, withdrawing her hands. She lowered her head, ducking it under his shirt as she planted a kiss on his abdomen, followed by another, and another, her tongue creating a wet trail down to his navel.

Tai's mind was disjointed. Half of his neurons sparked like fireworks as Hana's lips and hands traveled lower with each slow and agonizing second, and the other half struggled with its hold on reality. It was a situation he had long fantasized about, but never thought would happen—at least so soon. Hana had laid down the law quite early in their relationship, and yet she was on the cusp of breaking her own rules.

The key word was _cusp_.

Her name was jammed in the back of his moaning throat, inching up to his tongue in sync with the urge steadily overcoming him. She had run her fingernails up the legs of his boxers, but she didn't touch him. _God_, she wouldn't touch him. His eyes were pinched shut. Her teeth tugged teasingly at the elastic waistband of his shorts, but no. She wouldn't pull. The only thing he felt was the torrid moisture of her breath seeping through the fabric of his boxers. Her wet mouth was tantalizing close, her hands poised to end his agony.

Every muscle fiber in him clenched, his soreness at an all time peak. She wouldn't trespass, and it was killing him. Inwardly, he writhed in anticipation, his body resisting the temptation to react, to lift an arm, grab hold of her head, and…

His eyes ripped open, Hana's giggles penetrating his ears. Her mouth was so close. _So. Close._

He couldn't take it anymore. He leapt out of his bed, completely unaware of the pain that once plagued his body, and he had moved so quickly that Hana was pushed aside, bursting with laughter as he bolted out of his room.

In his rush to get to the bathroom, he had slipped on the sleek wooden floors of the hallway, knees and elbows smacking the ground.

He recovered quickly and locked himself in his destination, his back sliding down the bathroom door as one hand rubbed his forehead and the other slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Hana calmly emerged from his bedroom moments later, her face red and trembling as she tried to contain her laughter. Unlike her boyfriend, she was aware of the people gathered in the apartment living room—the same people who had witnessed him fly out the door and slip before he head-dove into the bathroom.

She leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed smugly over her chest, as she greeted her unfortunate witnesses.

"Hey, guys," Hana said with a smile.

Matt, Sora, Kari and T.K. all looked at her blankly, eyes switching once to look at the bathroom door, out of which they heard the spout to the bathtub spit out water before switching to the hiss of a functioning showerhead.

Hana was beside herself. She exploded with laughter, tears nearly streaming out of her eyes as her petite body crumbled to the floor, arms hugging her aching sides. Kari sideglanced at T.K., the corners of her straight mouth twitching and her posture beginning to hunch. He could hardly hold her stare. The first sputtered chortle was launched from his lips, and before long both he and Kari were busting at the seams, his hand beating against his knee while she buried her face in his shoulder.

Matt was next to succumb to the viral infection. He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a retch and a giggle, and Sora, ill-amused, nudged him roughly in the shoulder. When his blue eyes turned to look at her, the reflection in them glittering with glee, she caught herself grinning.

"No, stop," she chided, chuckling anyway.

"Come on, Sora," Matt teased, bumping her chin with his forefinger and thumb. She pushed his hand aside playfully, her face turning bright pink as the giggles began leaving her in full droves.

They were still laughing when Tai opened the bathroom door, just wide enough for him to ask Hana to grab him a towel and a change of clothes.

Wiping the tears from her face, Hana obeyed. She grabbed a towel from a closet and went to his room to find a clean shirt and a pair of boxers. There were handed to him through the narrow space he left open.

Moments later, the door parted, Tai summoning his girlfriend again.

"What do you n—"

He grabbed her arm and hauled her into the bathroom, making her yelp from surprise as the door slammed shut behind her and her back made contact with the stiff, unyielding wood.

Before she could utter one word, he was on her, pressing her against the door, the force of his weight on her enough to push her up, feet eventually leaving the floor as he thrust his hands between her legs. His fingers momentarily brushed against her sex before they cradled her thighs, giving her the boost she needed to wrap her legs tightly around him.

He hated that she was wearing her ballet clothes: the leggings, the skin-tight leotard, the sports bra that was nigh impossible to remove without scissors. Every contour of her body could be felt, but only through a thin barrier of clothing. It was infuriating.

"Whatever happened to, 'I'm not getting out of bed _all_ day', hmm?" Hana asked breathlessly between Tai's kisses.

"You're bad, you know that?" he told her, grinning. She only laughed all the harder.

Half an hour later and Tai was lying on his side on the living room couch, his girlfriend spooning him from behind. Her twiggy arms were wrapped around his neck, her cheek resting against his head as they watched television, one of her legs slung over his hip while the other fit perfectly behind his, her toe occasionally riding up the back of his calf.

They had emerged from the bathroom to an empty apartment, Matt, Sora, T.K. and Kari evidently vacating the premises once they heard the noises coming from the bathroom. Most of the 'questionable' sounds were performed with the express intent of eliminating the Kamiya apartment's extra guests. Tai was certain that his friends had seen him burst out of his room like a maniac before locking himself in the bathroom and giving himself the coldest shower of his teenaged life, and he wanted to avoid the grins and the winks and the plethora of sexual innuendos that would be awaiting him upon his exit.

And so he and Hana devised a plan that really only consisted of two steps—give or take a little variety. Moan, thud. Moan, thud—shriek—dramatic sigh. Only a few were genuine, though Tai doubted that his friends stayed long enough to differentiate between the real and the feigned. Hana's attire didn't allow them to do much of anything, anyway.

"I don't think they'll be able to look at us normally for the next few weeks," Hana said to him during a commercial break. She softly kissed the hickey on his cheek while he chuckled. "But I got you out of bed when you are pretty much a living bruise, and that's really all that matters."

He laughed.

"Right. You going to add this to the other notches you've got under your belt? You know, next to where you…" He raised a finger. "… one, became my first girlfriend to last longer than a month, two, got me to pay attention in science class, and three, beat me at video game soccer on the first try?"

She giggled, nestling her face in the nape of his neck.

"I'm pretty sure that last one was out of pure luck, but yes, I think you can add this to my list of growing accomplishments."

"Who knows? Maybe next you'll get me to cut my hair."

"Oh, no. Never," she said, planting kisses through his bushy mane. "I love this hair. I'll sooner give you a..." She cleared her throat. "… _you know… _than get you to cut your hair, Tai."

He raised an eyebrow at the comment.

"Would you have kept going if I didn't jump out of bed?" he dared to ask.

"I don't know," she said, ever coy. She played with a lock of his hair. "Maybe."

"Damn. Maybe next time we do ballet stretches we should do it for three hours instead of two. I'll be so sore afterwards the only thing that will get me to move _will_ be a… _you know_."

Hana simpered and pushed his forehead back with her index finger.

"In your wet dreams, Kamiya."


End file.
